Why do animals hate me?  No, seriously, what did I ever do that animals hate me so much?

I fancy myself a cyclist now.  I am not really a cyclist, I just fancy myself one.  As such, I have become quite ambitious on my biking days.  Yesterday was my biking day.  And I was ambitious. 

I looked at a map before I left home.   Looked at the map.  Saw straight lines and squiggle lines and street names.  They meant nothing to me.  But at least I looked at it. 

I hit the road.  I biked and biked and biked.  I pushed myself to go faster, harder, farther.  I went up hills, I went down hills.  I went up some more hills, I went down some more hills.  I was flying on my bike.  Another hill coming up, no prob.  Pump the pedals, change the gear, head up the hill.  Literally two seconds into the hill I realize it is not a hill.  It is not even hidden Mount Everest.  It is a vertical cliff.  I am  attempting to climb an actual vertical line.  I would have better luck getting up this hill if I had ropes and a carabiner.   I get about halfway up and see writing on the road.  What?  Why is there writing on the road?  I get closer.   "Tough hill."  It says tough hill right there on the road.  This hill is so bad that someone has actually taken the time to come out and write a warning on it.  Great.  

By some miracle I make it to the top of Tough Hill.  Without dying.   I am shaking and sweating and breathing at a rate which is incompatible with life.  I decide to take a break.  I see a beautiful sprawling farm to my right with rolling pastures and white fences and horses.  I get off the bike, walk over to the fence, lean my arms against it.    See horses off in the distance.  (sidebar:  I am afraid of horses.  I am also afraid of sunflowers.  For the same reasons.  They are both unnaturally big and tower over you.  I have a recurring nightmare:  I am all alone, lost in a sunflower maze.  Seriously, to me this is a nightmare).  But these are pretty horses way over there.  Get my water bottle out.  Take a swig of cool, refreshing water.  Wipe the sweat from my brow.  Try to regroup.   See the horses off in the distance start to walk.   Slowly.  See the horses start to walk slowly in my direction.  See the horses start to walk faster.  Hear the horses.  Hear the horses CLOMP CLOMPING.  Over to me.  Walking faster.  And faster.  Galloping is pretty much what they are doing now.   Galloping.  Galloping toward me.  And making noises.  Not cute little neigh, neigh, whinny noises.  No.  Not at all.  They are  snorting.  Like bulls.  Like raging bulls.  Two snorting raging bull horses galloping straight towards me.  I fumble to get my helmet back on my head, grab my water bottle and start to run back to my bike.  I trip over something. I look down.   Horse poop.  Everywhere.  I am in a minefield of horse poop with two raging bull horses on the attack.

Why?  Why do animals hate me?